Devouring Souls
by Sdhfs
Summary: An oblivion story.


Hey, this is an oblivion based story that takes on some additional aspects I've seen in various mods and such throughout the years, added to by what I think a realisation of the times would be like, just a few thoughts to my other stories, hope you enjoy.

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Rain drenched and ill tempered, the nightfall of Tamriel's most mournful night was a mirror of one soul who rushed along the docklands of Cyrodiil's capital; the least inspiring district among the usually grandiose imperial city. Beneath a sodden cloak that had seeped through to her leathers and linens; the would be apprehender of a man present (if not involved in the emperor's murder) set a blistering pace across the murky grass lands of the docklands _shantytown_, thinking that he would not make it yet another crushing defeat for her order – if not the empire in its entirety.

Yet that was not the case, Anya had made sure of it before she had recovered from being slung off the _Sloshing_ _Sailer's_ second floor, instead it was her body aching from the impact upon the cobbled streets that drove her now, that and the thought of the person she was chasing fleeing into the dead of night among the many hundreds (if not thousands unregistered) to elude justice.

It wouldn't be as easy as she'd thought; he was quicker than all that burnt flesh had suggested, his skin somehow impervious to her illusion magic's, she grasped the amulet from his hand before he thrown her off – quite literally into the punishing ground below.

He'd been trying to fence it for some small measure of gold; in some moored ship tied up by customs ran by shady enough characters to warrant watching by the more alert guards within the imperial ranks, shifty yet smart enough to sell him out to those who you didn't wish to cross in the heart of imperial power.

This was how she'd landed here; cutting through near a dozen alleyways and half clogged paths as he tried to lose her, rain making her cloak almost useless, her blades becoming lax in her grip, slipping and cursing as she near fell into a ditch long since abandoned by the cities inspectors.

They were getting away now from the 'shanty town' within the waterfront, where near all the vagrants and low lives carried out their poor existence, now closer to the more maintained – if still poor looking warehouses and docking quays.

In front always her evader had managed to use some measure of sure footing to scale the shacks and taverns (some which were four stories and higher) to avoid her attentions, now though the warehouses were to usual imperial standard, fitted and level enough that she could quite easily close the distance between them.

He seemed to pick up on this however, coming down hard off the final gap before slipping down an alleyway that would take him to the water. She was the furthest ahead and if he got loose again and consequently free…then she'd be shining pots in some dingy backwater palace or even tavern, on the worst assignment known since the inception of her order.

But she was quicker than him; better with the blade if she'd known not to underestimate a half blind cripple, once she turned that last corner he'd slipped behind she'd get him into the dirt with a throwing dart to his back –

That was if she could get up from the floor; she'd thought too much, got ahead of herself, didn't see the shipping crate he'd flung before she was levelled in a puddle deep enough to soak her breeches right through.

She'd never leave the bastard alive as Bauras had ordered, getting up and fighting the stars that gathered in her vision, but he'd left her there and was away, near a sloop that he could easily commander and be away with.

Or at least he would have been if not for an arching shock spell that levelled him some many sten before her, cursing as he went down into the slime and muck, over her head then came a figure leaping down into the dirt with practised grace, long sword glinting in hand as he neared her prey.

_Not that bloody fool Gaston_ she cried inside; distraught at the thought of the puffed up imperial getting the glory, and that rather than duty pulled her back to her feet and made her advance with the intent of claiming at least half the triumph for her pursuit.

The fool turned and flashed her that perfect grin of his, teeth pearly white as was true of so many stuffed up imperial diplomat brats, "Watch your surroundings" he told her teasingly, fully enjoying his moment of accomplishment in apprehending someone involved in the emperor's murder.

Rain pelted her as she realised yet again she'd be passed up again, _too young and too reckless _her instructors had always said, Gaston had already turned to check on his fallen quarry –

And was levelled full in the face by a rock thrown with enough force to buckle his knees, his eye splitting at the brow and dropping as his foe before to the mucky grass, she saw steel in the hand of the cripple and saw not an enemy to be bested, but a chance to be taken.

Crossing the distance of some dozen or so feet between them was easy for her even with her cloak trailing her down, her twin blades were in hand. Her leading hand blade was made up off a hilt of a staunch ysri tree fitted with a ruddy gold gem at its pommel, the blade itself was ten times folded steel stunted enough to be considered a short blade by a bosmer. Her oft-hand blade was that of a rare short hafted maul weighted at the pommel to deliver heavy blows pooled from deep iron ore, and it was forged by the finest metalsmiths in all of Falinnesti, both of them gifts that deserved better fare than this creature before her.

She struck at him fast; she'd always been told her natural dexterity coupled with her short handed blades (not to mention her unusual style and choice of second weapon) meant that sparring partners or real opponents alike often were overwhelmed, not able to get away from defending towards a typical sabre or sword wielding opponent.

The creature was not; he wasn't even reeling back, in her haste in fact he near cut her from hip to shoulder as she'd lunged at him with her maul aiming to cave his have torn up face in – only for a last minute side roll to stop her being decapitated as he lunged under her blade, then he thrust forward himself and she had to throw her lead blade up to clash against his (which looked to be a rusted piece of iron) with as much strength as she'd expected from a rampaging berserker.

Reeling from the blow she still managed to avoid losing her head by dodging two quick neck level slashes with her natural agility, then returning to offer an overhand stabbing strike to his exposed left that would have buried downwards into his thigh if he hadn't dropped to knee.

She was surprised and hoped away immediately; narrowly avoiding his upward slash that was long enough to have been able to leave her as clashing faced as himself, catching his blade that groaned when it met her maul.

One eye bloody red and soulless; like the dunmeri castaway peoples of Morrowind, the other as blue and icy as the far northern Sea of Ghosts, a duality that that would have intrigued someone between the time they saw the striking gaze until the time they saw that the crimson orb was surrounded by worse terrain than red mountain.

Her brief indulgence of analogy was met by his own idea of throwing her blade off his own; flicking his wrist so that her maul was sent reeling before he attempted to cut her head cleanly at the neck, too late to bring up her own blade she ducked under only to be sent straight upon her backside as he threw his shoulder into her chest – knocking the breath from her lungs and limiting her chances of subduing him if not staying alive.

He didn't expect her footwork from the floor to be so good however, she managed to buckle what she assumed would be his bad knee as he went to place his blade under her chin, escaping him as he went down not of his own violation this time.

It bought her a second before he was on his feet again and ranging in to do her damage, hard and fast enough that she'd be hard pressed to throw him off, given that he held no fear of her akimbo style, luck was in her favour though.

That in the form of another blast of lighting caught him squarely between the shoulders and dropped him to his knees, she knew he'd have to be downed if not dead after that –

Yet he only growled and stood up to face down Gaston, bloody face intermingling with the sheer surprise that he'd not been downed the second time his by much trumpeted lighting strike, _I could drop a bloody behemoth_ with it he'd told her more than once, "You imperial fuck. I'll rip your heart out" however this allowed them thoughts of what exactly the intended victim thought of his attempt.

Gaston didn't look to wish that to pass; instead he came forward and with a glance of the eye let her know she wished for her to attack his back. As he closed and began to circle she knew how she'd overreached her hand and near enough paid for it, they had to work together as distasteful as it might be.

Gaston finally engaged with the trademark overhead hammer blow common of sword fighting of the heavier; longer swords, which his opponent met with a spark of blades, the imperial following with an uppercut that was cut out and then countered with a straight thrust that near burst that same rusted blade through his chest, only for Gaston to awkwardly parry the blade away and slip aside.

The criminal then whirled his sword up to pummel Gaston into a mistake with an overhand strike that could have shattered his own blade, but Anya leapt in and sure enough he turned to fend her off with a wide arching vertical slash.

Gaston near enough struck across his back as he took advantage, following up with Anya in tow as they attempted to overwork the unexpectantly capable opponent.

Clashing with him as fast and most offensively as they could manage between, given the pair were not so effective together as to cut him to pieces there and then, yet all the same they forced him across the wet grass and into a tactic of avoiding more strikes than he met, Anya quick enough and Gaston holding enough strength between his long limbs and wide shoulders to give the burnt man concern.

It seemed he was beat; Anya could feel it as her strikes began to get ahead of Gaston, who could only attempt to rush to manoeuvre around as he missed a cautious thrust, Anya saw nothing but the sword in front as she struck again and again, sword and maul whirling as she sent him finally into the high stone walled warehouse that began the civilised parts of the docks.

His back was braced against the wall and her maul caught his sword tightly; she'd finish him with a blade across the thigh that would disable him until a healer could catch up with them –

His hands dropped free off his blade which caused her maul to dig into his shoulder, but left his arms free to grasp her by the collar before driving his head into where her nose and forehead met, stars cast across her vision as she felt weightless for a moment.

She didn't even feel herself hitting the floor, she could only see Gaston attempting to outright cut him down as his blade was near enough flung overhead to cut their foe cleanly down the middle. It didn't land and couldn't have expected it to; he was far too bloody quick and easily side stepped the blade which near snapped against the wall it struck.

He scrambled to get his own blade in hand yet only came up with her maul, _pride of the tree born_ she thought bitterly, as he took a desperate stance of defence with only the short weapon in hand, Gaston would have him now if he just played it smart she knew.

But it was Gaston after all, who thought jumping into the maw of a beast was the best way to get at its weak points; recklessly he cut forward, going for the neck which was ducked, another upward stroke that her own maul misdirected, before Gaston tried to return his blade into a hack that would have separated the burnt man left shoulder to right hip.

He was off-balance; too committed to resist as his wrist was caught and wrenched over shoulder, his body unwillingly following which landed him in a heap at the foot of the warehouse, it looked like he was either going to kill Gaston then run – try and kill both of them or run – perhaps even find discretion and mercy better than the savoury feeling of ending another's life.

But then it was resolved; an arrow whistling through the air to pierce the shoulder of the cloak settling over them, staggering him long enough for Gaston to surge up and hammer his fist across the scoured jaw line with enough power to drop him into the warehouse wall.

He had seemed imperious to Anya; a brutally scarred monster that seemed to have boundless energy and the skill of a master swordsman, yet he crumpled all the same when the wind was knocked from his lungs and Gaston put his now notched blade against his throat.

True to his awful grace Gaston managed to quip "I do not think you'll have my heart tonight" Before he was spat at disgustingly, it looked that he was about to deliver a sharp backhand only for a trio of figures behind to approach, it not being too hard to guess who these three were.

One was garbed in a darkened cloak, though she caught sight of those strong and dark features she'd recently associated with failure, "I thank you for your assistance captain" Baurus, knight of the blades and failure to the last in the line of Septim's said to those behind him, handing over a short composite bow of legionary standard, the weapon that had knocked the fight from their foe.

"Don't mention it, _blade_" the captain replied stiffly and with enough enforced civility that she had no illusion of his thoughts upon their order given recent events, she could only wonder what he would have done if he'd found out Baurus had been the one to fail emperor Uriel himself, yet instead the two imperial watch guards simply turned and left them there – compelled to act by the treaty enforced by the personal order of the Septim's.

Out of earshot Baurus did not lambast them for first losing the prey, instead rather he went to the downed man and growled "Aileron you half damned snake in the dirt, I could kill you right now you for your traitorous plan" He pulled a simple if not razor sharp dyke from his belt at that and near enough pressed it into the injured mans eye, angry enough to lose his hand to the shakes before he pulled it back in frustration.

To his credit this Aileron did not as much as flinch as Baurus seemed to lose his composure, not having anything to spit up he just barked laughter and cursed them, "Fuck you're talk of turning traitor, one has to be loyal before he becomes a traitor. Give me half a chance and I'll stick that blade up your arse _blade_, you're a lot of worthless shits anyway" he laughed harder now, enough that Baurus forced a hand towards the embedded arrow to make him growl rather than draw more attention.

"You really think you can just sell on the amulet of kings and get away with it? Have you lost what remains of your mind? If only for the emperor's own word I would have gutted you in the sewers, and it's for that reason that I won't now" Baurus said through clenched teeth, with only a hiss escaping "Uriel Septim saw a part for you in defence of the empire, embrace it or instead run. I promise you however that you'll not get far though, your names will have been given to every blade across all of Tamriel, you'll not escape us."

Aileron didn't laugh this time; he didn't even curse or thunder (much at least), "You want me to play a part in your farce, then I'll be well paid for it. As. I. Asked. I want a letter of writ signed by yourself, to this grand master of you shits, payment as soon after as I deliver the amulet, that and the gear held hear when I was imprisoned. And word where I can find Arnis Lae'Liland" He told Baurus almost civilly, yet before Baurus could argue he closed the distance so that a whisper couldn't barely be heard by those two above, "If I am betrayed in this, the very least you bastards can do for me, I'll come back to this city and cut your heart out, so you'll not get to see your precious empire crumble in the wake of this thing – an end of days"

Baurus looked ready to use that short blade of his then; but he as the responsible one at least, stashing it away and straightening up, "Agreed…provisionally at least on my part" he said tensely, giving away far too much than he wanted to, "You'll make for Weyton Priory as soon as you get that looked at, with these two as your garnitures" he announced further, holding up a hand to silence the rebuke that would surely come, "You better hope I don't murder them both in their sleep" Aileron told him darkly, though he didn't argue.

Baurus of course was more worried about her and Gaston, who refuted his presence even within their company; but there was to be no arguing however, he told them sternly "Uriel Septim saw something in this man, corrupted as he is. Watch him closely and keep the amulet passing hands as you go, you'll have mounts awaiting at the first dash stable near the shoreline using the client name Uriel's blessing, get supplies from the nearest trader and make for the Priory as soon as you can."

They were like simple instructions of course, just another mission ferrying some so-called important piece back and forth between safe houses and pick up points, but not with the amulet of kings involved. Worse still they were to bring this mad creature from god knows where across the continent, a man with morals only met as low by his divine awful face and disgusting attitude to boot, it almost made her sick to receive an order from the man who'd let Uriel Septim die upon his watch…

"Yes sir" Gaston said beside her, filling in as her thoughts caught her a ways once again, "Travel safely and have your fake identities ready" he told them, giving another choice look to their unwanted guest who still had an arrow lodged to his 'good' shoulder, "Keep an eye on him also, I know I said we needed him, but don't hesitate if he moves against you." Anya got in first this time though.

"Gladly" she promised.


End file.
